


Balance

by Badwolf36



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode Tag, Episode: s04e12 Smoke & Mirrors, Full Shift Werewolves, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Wolf Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 00:59:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7824010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Badwolf36/pseuds/Badwolf36
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So … werewolves. Actual wolf forms are part of the whole wolfy ability thing.” He nods to himself. “Which I guess I already sort of knew, but it’s super different when it’s right in front of you …” He quirks up an eyebrow. “… slobbering.”</p><p>In which Derek spends some time hanging out in his new fur coat, Stiles tracks him down, and the two of them have a meaningful conversation without Derek saying a single word.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Balance

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this right after season 4 ended, but never got around to posting it. Hope you enjoy it!

Derek licks his nose with his long pink tongue, then lets out a delighted chuff at the sheer novelty of it.

He turns in a quick circle, snapping his jaws leisurely at his fluffy tail before he takes a running start in order to bound over a fallen log in a single leap. If he had the vocal cords for it, he’d laugh. Instead, he lets out a loud “Woof!” before diving headfirst into a pile of leaves.

He’d asked his mom once, long before the fire, what a full shift felt like. She’d gotten a far-off look in her eyes, irises briefly glinting ruby, before she’d smiled at him and ruffled his hair.

 _“It feels_ right _. Like you’re perfectly balanced at the center of the triskele, one with nature and the pack and yourself.” She paused, then laughed before leaning in close in a conspiratorial manner. “And it’s_ fun _to chase things.”_

And Derek didn’t understand it before, but he does now. He does and it’s _amazing._

He snuffles around the leaf pile he’s buried himself in, glorying in the smells. There’s the overly sweet scent of decay, the earthy smell of the dirt, and the sharp scents of the rabbits and mice and birds and … he sneezes, which sends leaves rocketing away from his face and lets sunshine dapple into his makeshift den.

He shifts forwards and peers out at the forest, appreciating the way his sight is so much sharper than it was even before his stint as a human.

He contemplates that fact for a moment. He had to lose everything that made him a werewolf in order to find his way back to himself and the truest form he could reach.

Derek doesn’t rest on the issue long since something moves in the corner of his vision and distracts him. He backs further into the pile and crouches down among the leaves, wincing at the crackling he’d delighted in seconds earlier.

The creature has a jackrabbit-fast heartbeat, and is making more noise than is acceptable for any self-respecting forest denizen.

Derek scents the air carefully, pushing away his notice of the scents closest to him to focus on the aroma the wind is pushing his way. It’s familiar, although different when he’s like this. There’s the slightest hint of harsh, stringent chemicals (medication) layered over a spicy musk touched with a hint of burnt sugar.

Any doubt about who is crashing through the woods is blasted away when a hoarse voice yells, “Derek!”

He stays where he’s at as Stiles takes a few steps and then bends over, bracing his hands on his denim-covered knees as he catches his breath.

“Stupid, no-account jerk,” Stiles grumbles as he straightens up. He scuffs the toe of his right trainer in the dirt before he cups his hands around his mouth. “Derek! Are you out here?!”

Derek debates how to reveal himself as Stiles huffs and collapses down until he’s sitting cross-legged on the Preserve floor about 10 feet from Derek’s hiding spot.

“Damnit,” he says, and scrubs his fists over his eyes, wiping the cuffs of his black sweatshirt over his face after that. He addresses the tree in front of him with “I really hope Scott was right and you’re out here and not kidnapped again.”

Derek bares his fangs in annoyance, but he really can’t deny anything Stiles just said.

“So, if you’re okay,” Stiles continues, “I’d really like to see that you’re all good to go. Strong wolf that don’t need no … I have literally no idea where I was going with that. Just … howl or something, would ya?”

And really, that’s the opening Derek’s been looking for. He throws his head back, knocking the leaves off himself, and lets a proud howl slip past his transformed teeth. He cuts it short in order to catch Stiles’ reaction and is immensely satisfied with what he sees.

Stiles has scrambled up to his hands and knees and is clutching a bent twig in his right fist. He’s also got a slack jaw and wide amber eyes, which he locks with Derek’s own sapphire blue.

“Oh wow,” Stiles squeaks out, and he sounds awed. “So that’s what you look like. And it has to be you because, you know, no wolves in California.”

He then looks abruptly pissed.

“You complete asshole.” He tosses the twig at Derek, and they both watch as the lightweight piece of wood lands a few feet away from Stiles. “Oh my god!” he shouts, tossing his hands up into the air as he sits back up on his heels.

Derek snorts and trots over the few short steps to Stiles, shedding leaves and sticks as he goes.

He waits until he’s about a foot away from Stiles before woofing in his face.

Stiles starts desperately waving his right hand in front of his nose.

“Dude, your breath is _rank_. Did you eat a squirrel or something?”

Derek curls his lips up, showing off what he knows are pearly-white fangs (he may have spent some time in front of a mirror, seeing exactly how the shift happened and what he looked like with fur and a tail).

“Gross, Derek,” Stiles says, wrinkling his nose. He then smiles gently before his expression turns devious. “Stay right there, okay? Don’t move.”

He reaches his hand into his pocket, pulling out his cellphone and swiping his thumb over the touchscreen a few times before holding the device up.

Derek hears the rapid click of the artificial shutter noise go off and tilts his head slightly. He’s almost positive Stiles coos at him, but Stiles is stowing the phone before he can decide whether it actually happened or not.

“FYI, your eyes only cause that weird laser glare like half the time when you’re like this.”

Derek huffs, but he’s distracted when Stiles reaches above him and carefully plucks a large, multicolored maple leaf off of where it had apparently been perched on Derek’s head.

He growls in annoyance as he realizes that Stiles now has a bunch of photos of him looking particularly goofy. (He could have dealt with photos of him looking majestic, and he’s actually been trying to figure out how to take one himself, but he hasn’t quite figured out how to shift quickly enough and get in position before the camera timer goes off). Stiles scrambles backwards, landing on his butt amongst another pile of leaves on the forest floor.

“Not cool,” he snaps when Derek chuffs in amusement. Stiles rearranges himself so that his legs are crossed. He rests his hands on his knees and starts drumming his kneecaps with his long fingers.

Derek sits back on his haunches, letting his tongue loll out. He’s honestly waiting for a dog joke, but it doesn’t come.

Instead, Stiles eyes him carefully, like he’s studying every part of Derek.

Derek allows the examination, mostly because he’s proud of the way he looks, of this form that his mother and sister (his alphas) achieved.

Stiles lets out a deep breath before taking in another and saying, “So … werewolves. Actual wolf forms are part of the whole wolfy ability thing.” He nods to himself. “Which I guess I already sort of knew, but it’s super different when it’s right in front of you …” He quirks up an eyebrow. “… slobbering.”

Derek curls his lips back to show off his teeth yet again, but he doesn’t bother to snarl. At this point, he’s pretty used to Stiles’ rambling and casual insults.

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles says, flapping his hand at him. “Apex predator, I get it.”

He holds his hand out, and Derek’s eyes practically cross as he stares at it in confusion.

“Oh, sorry,” Stiles says. “I sometimes got to help the K-9 officers with their training. Habit.” He drops his hand before collapsing forward with his arms flung out. Derek yips in shock and a little bit of fright before he recognizes that Stiles is _hugging_ him, his face buried in Derek’s ruff.

He yips again, confusion once again pushing its way to the forefront of his mind. Stiles is warm against him, and his scent is strong and pure and comforting in a way that speaks to his instincts with the word “ _pack.”_ And then he smells salt and his ears prick up as he hears a shuddering exhale and then another. He lets out a little growl (he still can’t quite make noises like he wants to in this form — much like he struggles with words in his human form, actually) and Stiles pulls back, wiping hastily at his eyes with the cuffs of his sweatshirt.

“I…uh…” Stiles starts to say, but his voice fails before he can string a sentence together. Derek manages a distressed whine this time, and Stiles awkwardly pets Derek’s head, still wiping at his face.

They sit there in near-silence for a long time, Derek occasionally whining and pressing his nose against Stiles’ arm and Stiles letting out hiccupping sobs with decreasing frequency.

“You told me to go,” Stiles finally says, his voice cracking. “You were dying and you told me … us … to leave you behind. You were gonna die. You …”

Derek lays down, settling his chin on top of Stiles’ crossed ankles. Stiles seizes Derek’s ears, using his hold to pull Derek a little closer as he curls over him, pressing their foreheads together.

“After Allison,” Stiles says, and his voice cracks again, “after her and Aiden, I never wanted to see another person die. And Scott swore that it wouldn’t happen, that he wouldn’t let anyone else die. I knew with our lives, with the way Beacon Hills is, that it wasn’t likely. But I hoped. God, I hoped. And we survived. We survived you being a teenager and then turning into a human. We survived the Benefactor, and Brunski …” Stiles trails off, and the salt smells gets stronger, along with a heavy tang of fear. “Him and everything else. Hell, you and I survived Liam going through werewolf training. And then we got out of that van …”

Derek whimpers. Even though he’d healed, even though it didn’t hurt anymore and didn’t leave scars, he still vividly remembers the feeling of his ribcage shattering under that Berserker’s fist. He still remembers choking on his own blood and the way his body had felt so, so heavy before it finally changed.

And he remembers how much he wanted Stiles to stay, to hold him like he did at the pool, or ground him like he did right after Boyd died on his claws. Stiles was starting to become a fixture in his life, and that was something he hadn’t let himself have for a very long time.

But Scott (His pack? His friend? His alpha? His brother?) had been in danger. It had been important that they went after him, that they stopped Kate. He would have slowed them down. So he told them to go, told Stiles to do what he couldn’t.

And they’d lived. They’d all lived, and here he was with his snout nudging up the fabric of Stiles’ hoodie sleeve.

As if he’s followed Derek’s thoughts, Stiles says, “I won’t forgive you for telling me to leave. I won’t.” He pauses, and then sighs. “I won’t forgive you, but because of what you did, we saved Scott. And I’m just glad you’re still here. That we’re still here.”

Derek woofs softly, and Stiles seems to take it for the agreement it is. Stiles lifts his hands, scrubbing at his damp face with the heels of his hands.

“Oh my god, I swear no one else pisses me off like you do.”

Derek snorts and Stiles gives Derek a rough approximation of a noogie. Derek shoots to his feet and drops his upper body down, wiggling his back end and tail until Stiles laughs. He pounces the moment Stiles opens his mouth, knocking the younger man over and pinning him to the ground. Stiles starts batting ineffectively at Derek’s face, but Derek just barks at him.

“Get off!” Stiles yells breathlessly. “You weigh like a million tons!”

Derek snorts before landing a solid, slobbery lick across Stiles’ cheek and lips.

“Gross! Wolf drool! I’ve got wolf cooties now!” Stiles yells and Derek yips before they both freeze in realization at what they’ve just done, the odd little kiss they just shared.

But then Stiles smiles and wipes his cheek against Derek’s muzzle with a look of challenge in his eyes.

Derek would roll his eyes if he could, but he settles for knocking Stiles onto his back again, pinning him to the forest floor.

“Jerk,” Stiles wheezes. He brings his hands up, but it’s only to scratch Derek’s ears, not push him off.

They lay there for a while, just breathing and stealing glances at one another, until Stiles traces his thumbs over the fur above Derek’s eyes.

“You and your eyebrows.” Derek raises the body parts in question, but Stiles just laughs. “One of these days, I’m gonna figure out all of your wolfy secrets. And I’m going to write a million pages in a new bestiary, so some other kid whose best friend is bitten by a werewolf doesn’t have to spend forever trawling the Internet for beginner werewolf lessons. Or have to visit the hardware store for chain so said best friend doesn’t eat them, because that was super awkward and I bought some other stuff to try to throw off suspicion, but come to think of it, zip ties and garden gloves probably did nothing to keep me off the radar.”

Derek snuffles in amusement before rolling off of Stiles. He lands on his back and takes his time to writhe around a little, enjoying the way one particular stick seems to hit just the right spot on his back.

Stiles laughs at him, but it’s not in an unkind way. Instead, he sounds almost … happy, in an honest way that Derek hasn’t heard in ages. Of course, Derek should have been paying attention when Stiles’ laughter started to take on a movie-villain maniacal cackle sort of tenor, but he couldn’t be blamed for letting his guard down. Stiles took advantage of his distraction to wiggle his fingers menacingly before plunging them into the soft fur covering Derek’s belly and trying to tickle him.

It feels amazing in his current form, ecstasy in a way that’s simple and without the hang-ups that come from his prior relationships involving physical pleasure.

“First thing I’m writing down is totally, ‘Wolves love belly rubs.’”

Derek gives a half-hearted snarl, but he’s too pleased with Stiles’ ministrations to even think about getting away.

Eventually, Stiles stops moving his fingers and lies down again, using Derek as a makeshift pillow. Derek twists so that his paws bracket Stiles’ head as Stiles’ warm weight settles down against him.

“Are we going to be okay?” Stiles whispers into the still of the forest when Derek is starting to drowse off.

He wants to say yes. He wants to shift back and hold Stiles firmly in his arms and protect him and the others in a way he hasn’t been able to provide for the ones he, _they_ , have lost.

But Derek knows their lives don’t come with such guarantees. So instead of doing what he wants, he cranes his head until he can look Stiles in the eyes. Stiles looks up at him a little blearily, apparently drifting off for a nap despite the chill of the forest floor.

Derek tries to convey all that with his eyes, and when Stiles gives him a slow nod, Derek returns it. And then he gives Stiles’ forehead a sloppy lick, tasting salt and sugar and medicine and _alive_ before he bolts out from under Stiles, barking with joy as the teen curses upon being dumped to the ground. Stiles recovers quickly though, and then the chase is on.

They may never be okay, may never be safe, but they can still laugh, still breathe. For Derek, right now, with the solid earth beneath his paws and Stiles’ creative threats ringing out behind him (something about a wolf pelt hoodie), he thinks it’s enough for right now. 


End file.
